


Forget About You

by subwaytonowhere



Category: Glee RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Bartender! Curt, First Meeting, M/M, Post-breakup Riker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 20:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3461588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subwaytonowhere/pseuds/subwaytonowhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curt works at a bar. When a crushed blond, reeling from a recent break-up comes into the bar, Curt can't help but try to help him move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget About You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from niffler-rikerconda on Tumblr.

Curt grabbed a damp rag, and began wiping down the counter. Sure, it needed to be disinfected, but really, he just liked how shiny the counter looked after he wiped it down. Besides, he had to do something to pass the time. The bar was empty, save for some people hanging around one of the pool tables. Curt had two hours left in his shift. Then, it would be back to a lonely apartment.

The bell attached to the front door rang. Someone had just come in. Hopefully, they'd come up to the counter and order something. Curt was bored out of his effing mind.

A tall, sullen-looking blond came in and took a seat at the counter. Even through his obvious frustration and sadness, he still looked attractive. Curt shook his head, as if the action alone would clear the thought from his mind. It didn't, but Curt did his best to ignore it.

He strode up to the guy, putting on his friendliest smile.

"What'll it be tonight?"

"Whiskey, please. Neat."

"Coming right up."

Curt skirted back around the corner and poured the guy's drink. He brought it straight back, setting it down on the counter next to him.

"Thanks," he said. Without another word, he started to drink.

Curt didn't want to stare, so he moved nearby to a stack of glasses. He took dry rag and started pretending to dry them off. He figured that he could probably waste another ten or so minutes just by drying the same glasses that had already been dried three times.

"Those glasses look dry to me," someone said. It took Curt a second for him to realize that the guy he had just served was talking to him.

"Yeah. I've already dried these twice."

"Why are you doing it again?"

"I'm bored out of my mind."

"Oh."

The conversation seemed to end there. Curt felt the need to say something to get it going again.

"Yeah. This is the dead part of the night."

The guy looked around the bar. That was when Curt noticed that the men who had been playing pool had left. It was just him and the other guy.

"No, I get it," the guy said. On the inside, he breathed a sigh of relief.

"I don't want to sit and stare at you while you drink, so I've got to do something while I wait for you to ask for a refill or a tab."

The guy laughed a little, but then quickly faded back into stoicism. When he began to near the bottom of his drink, he looked over to Curt.

"I'd like another, please," he said.

Curt got him another drink and set it down.

"What's bothering you?" Curt asked as he set it down. The guy looked up at him with surprise.

"Breakup."

"Rough."

"We were together for a year. Exactly. He broke up with me on our one-year anniversary."

Curt couldn't help but notice that he'd said he.

"That's tough, man," Curt said.

"Yeah. You ever have any rough breakups?"

"Yeah. I wasn't the dumpee, though. I was dating a girl for a while, and things were going alright, but then I realized that I play for the other team, so to speak." Curt laughed awkwardly. "That was a pretty tough thing to do."

Truthfully, it had been. The girl he'd been with had been kind, and Curt felt bad for having to go to her and tell her that he couldn't love her the way she loved him.

"Then why'd you do it?" the guy asked.

"I couldn't keep living a lie," Curt said.

"I guess that makes sense," he said.

Curt was glad.

The guy was nearing the end of the second glass, and Curt found himself hoping that he would order another drink. Even though he was convinced that he was just making a fool of himself, he liked talking to this guy. Unfortunately, the guy didn't say anything else. He just pulled out his phone. He spent a couple of minutes looking at something, and then looked even more crushed than he had all night.

"I am so pathetic," he said after a few seconds.

"Why do you say that?"

The guy handed Curt his phone. Curt took it and looked at the screen. He had Facebook pulled up, and there was a post from a very handsome-looking guy.

Brayden Walsh: Dinner and a movie with my new man #movingon

There was a picture attached to the status.

He looked up from the phone, looking at the guy, who was now sadly staring at the counter, blinking back tears.

"He's out there, on a date with some other guy, not even a week after we broke up, having a good time. And I'm here, in some run-down little bar on the sketchy side of town, trying to drown myself in alcohol just so I can forget him."

Curt looked down at the phone, and on a whim, decided to do something. He tapped on Brayden Walsh's name and went to his profile.

"What are you doing?" the guy asked. Curt ignored him. He tapped on the icon that said "Friends", and a menu came up. Curt hit "Unfriend", and a pop-up message came up.

Are you sure you want to remove Brayden as your friend?

Curt tapped on "Yes." Then, the page refreshed, an "Add friend" button now appearing where the "Friends" button had been just a few seconds earlier. The guy shot him a confused look, but Curt just handed the phone back.

"You unfriended him?" the guy said. He didn't sound mad, just surprised.

"Yeah," Curt said. "If you stay friends with him on Facebook, you're just going to get a huge stream of posts about him and his new boyfriend, and that's just going to make you more miserable than you already are."

"You're right. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"I should probably just go home. I'm loitering."

"I don't think my boss would be too mad. You're the only one here."

"Right."

The conversation died down again, and Curt desperately wished that it would start back up again. But in reality, he'd probably ask for the tab in a second, and Curt would give it to him. He'd pay, and he'd leave.

"I'd like a club soda, please," the guy said.

"Alright," Curt said. Curt ran back and got the guy his soda, setting it down on the counter next to him.

"I don't want another drink, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm loitering, and I'm not in any hurry to leave."

"Alright," Curt said.

"You never told me your name," the guy said.

"You never told me yours," Curt said.

"I'm Riker."

Riker. Curt had never heard that one before, but he liked it.

"I'm Curt," Curt said.

"Short for Curtis?"

"Yeah. But I hate my full name."

"Understandable."

"Yeah."

"What brought you to LA?"

"I want to be an actor."

"Cool. You ever performed in anything?"

"Oh, yeah. I grew up near Arlington in Texas. I was in several children's theater productions. I went to college for a while, but I left to come to LA. I'm working two jobs to keep a roof over my head, while going to auditions. I've gotten a few small roles, but nothing big yet. Just have to keep hoping."

"Yeah."

"What about you? What are you doing here?"

"I want to be a performer. I grew up near Denver. I was also into children's theater. We moved here when I was sixteen. Like you, I've gotten some smaller roles. I'm in a band right now, and it's starting to take off. It's pretty exciting."

"Sounds like it."

Curt looked down to see that Riker—god, he even loved the way that sounded—was almost done with his soda.

"You seem like a pretty cool guy, Curt."

"Thanks," Curt said.

With that, Riker finished his club soda. Then, Riker's phone buzzed.

"Text?" he asked.

"No, it's a message from Brayden," Riker said. "It says 'You unfriended me? That's low.'"

Riker snorted, and then typed something back.

"So is dating someone else two days after you dumped me," Riker read aloud as he typed.

"Nice," Curt said.

"He's typing something back," Riker said. "He said 'What the hell is your problem?'"

"What an asshole," Curt said. Riker wrote something else back and pressed send.

"I said 'Nothing. It's just time for me to #moveon too.'"

"Nice," Curt replied.

"Well, I really should probably get back to my apartment, so I'd like that tab now, please."

"Okay."

Curt went and got him the tab, feeling kind of sad. He set it down next to Riker, who handed him a credit card. Curt swiped the card and got it back to him.

"When does your shift end?" Riker asked.

"Oh, it ends in about half an hour," Curt said, looking at his watch. Riker grabbed a napkin and pulled out a pen. He wrote something down on the napkin, and then he slid it over to Curt.

"Give me a call when your shift gets done," Riker said. Without another word, he stood up from the barstool and turned to walk out the door. A few seconds later, he was out of sight. When Curt heard the bell ring, he knew he was gone.

Curt looked down at the napkin. Riker had written his phone number on it. He slid the number into his pocket, smiling to himself. In just 25 minutes, he would be done for the night.

And when he was done, he'd be sure to call.


End file.
